


La Rose de Noël (The Christmas Rose)

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: This is a bit early but wanted to get it done before I really didn't have any time close to the holidays.So this is my contribution for Christmas and I wish all my readers and writing friends a Joyeux Noël!See notes at bottom.++++
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	La Rose de Noël (The Christmas Rose)

Shaky hands reached out for purchase as d'Artagnan did his best to climb up the sides of, what turned out to be, a very deep ravine made more slippery because of the snow storm that had suddenly arrived. He'd been lucky, or unlucky depending upon how you looked at it, to have landed upon a ledge and not fallen all the way down. Something had spooked Zad, though d'Artagnan couldn't think what had startled his horse. Right now his major concerns dwelled upon reaching the top without sliding back down or missing the ledge entirely and falling to the bottom. The climb was made all the more harder because of the harsh winds battering his body.

So much for Aramis' teasing him about getting such an easy assignment. Ha! Wishing he could have traded places with the marksman, d'Artagnan swore when his hand slipped again. Thinking back to what put him in this position, all he could remember was the feeling of suddenly becoming airborne. Twas a most unpleasant sensation and he tried really hard not to blame Zad for his predicament. His blurry vision was making it hard to see what he was doing. A concussion most likely. He certainly didn't need Aramis to confirm that. Twas hard going but finally d'Artagnan reached the top and dragged himself to safety. Collapsing, his fall was pillowed by a mound of snow. The brightness of it hurting his eyes.

Tired, he was so very tired now. Twould be the worst thing to do, if he closed his eyes. Still, Aramis wasn't there to chide him for surrendering to sleep. However, as if the man were with him to shake d'Artagnan awake, his eyes popped back open. Having heard enough lectures from the marksman upon the subject, he wouldn't dare disobey his friend. Blinking against the whiteness surrounding him, d'Artagnan tried to keep his mind occupied. Remembering a story his maman once told him, he thought back to that time when he'd been only a petit garcon of perhaps five years of age. Twas about la Rose de Noël which only bloomed during the Noël season, even in the snow. The legend surrounding it centered around the birth of Jesus. It had always held fascination for him.

Never having seen it for himself, d'Artagnan wasn't sure if it was really true. Could have been something that maman had made up to simply entertain him, when he was bored. Which happened all too often. He did remember something odd she'd mentioned, in regards to the flower. It held properties that were favored by docteurs and herbalists for curing various ailments. Something d'Artagnan felt that Aramis would have had great interest in. That's if the marksman ever found the rose in the first place.

As shivers wracked his slender frame, d'Artagnan figured that he'd end up freezing to death before his friends ever found him. Assuming he'd been missed already and they were out looking for him in these awful conditions. Eyes slowly drifting shut again mere moments passed, though it felt like hours, when he heard a woman's voice inside his head telling him rather forcefully to not fall asleep. Head resting upon his outstretched arm, the fingers of his right hand touched something.

Lifting his head back up was a feat in itself but somehow d'Artagnan managed to do so. Focusing upon what was in front of him he gasped, shaking snow from his hair which only increased the pounding pain in his head. There at the edge of his fingertips was a beautiful white flower dotted with pink in its center. Twas his maman's Rose de Noël. It filled him with hope, because d'Artagnan was certain twas a sign sent by his beloved parent. Concentrating so upon the miracle before him, he nearly missed the sounds of his name being bellowed. Struggling to turn over he tried to raise his arm up to signal his location. Every movement was painful, since his limbs felt stiff as a board, but somehow his brothers saw him.

"'Ey! There's the whelp!"

The inseparables leaped off their horses running over to their fallen youngest.

Gingerly, Aramis checked the lad over for injuries. "Nothing broken," murmuring to himself, his lips pursed noting the state of d'Artagnan's torn gloves. Carefully removing them, he winced. Looking about, he noted how close to the edge of a very deep ravine they were. Glancing at his brothers, then back again at the pup, he realized what had happened here. "A lot of scrapes and bumps but I feel he's all right to move."

Placing a heavy blanket around d'Artagnan, Porthos tenderly picked the kid up. The whelp was talking to him, but the pup's words were muffled by the blanket covering the boy's entire face.

"Are you trying to smother him, Porthos?" snapped Athos who pushed aside the part covering the lad's mouth. "What were you saying, d'Artagnan?"

"Ma... maman's... rose." Barely getting his words out through chattering teeth, he tried again. " _Maman's... rose_."

"Oy! Whelp's been out 'ere too long. 'E's delirious." Staring at Aramis, Porthos shrugged. "I mean roses wouldn't survive in winter."

"I disagree," said Aramis. His gaze followed the indentation left behind from where the young Gascon's body had nearly been buried. Astonishment filled him, as he made his discovery. Falling to his knees, Aramis reverently bent his head. Pulling out his crucifix, from where it rested against his chest, he kissed it and said a silent prayer.

"Maman... sent it to... me... to make sure... I... didn't... give up." Exhausted, and half frozen, d'Artagnan shuddered in Porthos' arms.

Staring at the flower, Porthos frowned. Sparing Athos a glance, he shrugged again. He had seen many strange things in his day. A rose blooming in the midst of a snow storm was something he could add to the list. Twas something that he also wouldn't question. If the pup felt that twas sent to him then who was he to say differently?

Having seen the rose, Athos didn't know what to think nor did he have time to ponder it. His biggest concern was for d'Artagnan's health which right now was rather precarious. "We need to get him back to the Garrison quickly and work upon getting our pup warmed up."

Upon his feet again Aramis knew his older brother was correct. They shouldn't waste anymore time. Mounting his horse, he twisted around in his saddle for one last look at the lone bloom. Whispering merci to the young Gascon's maman he tugged upon Belle's reins and followed his friends home.

++++

_Notes:_

I may have done a story before, years ago during the Christmas season, dealing with the flower and d'Artagnan. But I have always been fascinated with the legend surrounding the Christmas Rose, which is an actual flower (Helleborus niger - that blooms in winter conditions around the world. Despite its common name, Christmas rose does not belong to the rose family 'Rosaceae') Which would explain why they don't resemble a traditional rose.

The dominant legend of this flower's origin concerns the birth of Christ and this is how it goes...  
When Jesus was born in the little town of Bethlehem, there came wise men from the East bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. A little shepherdess, waching from afar, wept because she had no gift to offer the Christ Child. As her tears fell to the ground, flowers sprang up, which the child gathered and hastened to bring to the infant. In adoration, she knelt at the crib, so Jesus could see the flowers, and when His blessed little hands touched the flowers, a delicate pink appeared in the center of each one. And so a flower that never bloomed before came into existence - the Christmas Rose. To this day, the Christmas Rose blooms more abundantly at Christmas time than at any other season.

Also, from Greek and Roman times, the plant was revered by herbalists for its power to cure madness, nervous disorders and heart ailments.


End file.
